Running With Guns Drawn
by Denkinasu
Summary: Struggling to survive in the Wasteland, Harley starts her life outside of Vault 101 as a merc, drug runner, and explorer. One bad deal changes her life choices and soon she finds herself paired with a hulking ghoul and an Australian Shepard, traveling through the Wasteland and eventually ending up in the Commonwealth. Lone Wander & Sole Survivor cross-over later on. Please R&R :)
1. Underworld's Drug Deals Don't Come Cheap

Her black boots made little noise as she covered the dead ground of the Mall. Stealth was her objective, and with ease she slipped into the long evening shadows of the broken buildings. But, she was certainly no weakling; being stealthy was her way to reserve her dwindling stamina. Her sore arms from wielding a sledge hammer against a super-mutant was proof enough. But then again, a sledge hammer was an amazing stealth weapon; and she relied on it multiple times when undertaking silent killings or particularly violent ones. Had she not been suffering from critical radiation poisoning, multiple bullet wounds, and a raging hunger and thirst she would've walked right into the open, readily attacking anything that came her way. The Lone Wanderer stumbled away from the super-mutant trenches and evenly found some sort of life…well, un-life was more appropriate. Of course, she'd seen many ghouls before and had even 'helped' a few Tennpenny residents change their minds about allowing them residence.

Well, 'help' was a subjective term; it _helped_ her that their cortexes were currently displayed on the wall as high class artwork.

Up ahead near the Museum of Natural History, a female ghoul watched her intently, before Harley put away her rifle and walked up to her stiffly. "Willow! It's been so long I didn't even recognize you." Harley rasped out appreciatively.

"What's the matter smoothskin? You sound as bad as us," The older ghoul asked before eyeing her over, and noting the multiple bullet wounds in Harley's combat armor. Harley remained silent as Willow looked her over before finally side-stepping, "You know where the doc is, tourist. Just try not to drop dead."

The 19-year-old practically dragged herself to The Chop Shop, and had barely scrapped enough caps off of some Wastelanders and Raiders to buy two packs of RadAway. Doctor Barrows looked her over as she settled down on one of the cots before uneasily dipping the needle underneath her skin. She had only a little bit of medical training, and mainly used it when it came to administering Stimpacks in the field.

"That won't be enough you know. Did you plan on becoming a ghoul? Is that why you waited so long before coming to a doctor or do you plan on taking up residence here?" he chastised her lightly, face curled in a mixture of concern and censure.

Harley looked up at him as the RadAway seeped into her system, the clicks of the declining Geiger counter giving her a migraine, "Well Doc, when you've been shot at by multiple Super Mutants with miniguns, forced to drink out of irradiated streams, no _toilet water_ for that matter, and have had no food, some things take a back seat,"

He grimaced at her before her crossness abated and she continued, "Do you know Moira Brown by any chance? Over in Megaton... real irritating woman,"

Doctor Barrows nodded slowly, "I have heard of her, but no I haven't met her. Why?"

Harley smiled shakily, the RadAway starting to work, "Well, let's just say she fucked up my DNA. Made it so that whenever I have advanced radiation sickness, my crippled body heals immediately. Quite a sight actually,"

The ghoul raised the muscle where his eyebrow should've been, and as Harley retracted the needle from the first pack, she administered the second one, "So being on the edge of death from one to too many rads isn't very frightening," Barrows rolled his deep sunken gray eyes and let her finish up.

After a good 20 minutes she got up, shaking gently on jellied legs, and hastily moved past Nurse Graves and another girl unconscious on a semi-concealed cot. As she reached the door she paused, "I'll probably be back Doc, my last skirmish with the Muties ridded me of my Stimpack supply, but I need more caps before I can buy any." Barrows grunted at her and she slipped past the doors to the Concourse.

She milled about Underworld and briefly talked to a few of the residents about where she could get a bed for the night. Patchwork, in his drunken slur, informed her about Carol's Place. He also told her to watch out for any of his dismembered body parts; he was looking for them.

Harley walked up the grand stairs and began to take in her surroundings again; it'd been a long time since she had visited D.C. One of the things that did bother her though about the ghouls was the smell. Sure, they were nice enough, but they smelled of death and sometimes decay (especially some of them hit hard by the bombs). She soon learned to ignore the smell though, and enjoyed the company of them.

Gob had been an initial shocking sight to her, but she immediately took a shine to him once Moriarty proved to be an asshole to her and he wasn't. She repaid his kindness by shooting Moriarty at point-blank range and waltzing out of Megaton. While she did kill a lot, it was rarely in communities anymore, and Underworld knew her as no threat.

This created a veil of safety as Three Dog whined about her tyrannical outbursts and sadism. No one knew her as a Vaultie, and she kept that past hidden deeply; even if that meant killing people as a way to prove herself in the Wasteland. A force not to be tampered with. The very evil boogeyman, the Capital crime lord, or her favorite: the Capital Cannibal. The thoughts racked about her head as she pulled open the doors to Carol's Place.

Two women looked at her unenthusiastically, "Can I help you smoothskin?" Carol finally asked.

"Yeah, I'd like a bed for the night, "she paused before remembering something, "Oh, and Gob sends his regards."

The old ghoul's eyes sparked with surprise, "You… you've seen him?" Harley nodded, still bedraggled. "Well send my regards back to him! I remember you now…it's been a long time since you've skulked around D.C."

Again she nodded silently and shuffled through her bag for a fistful of caps, "Yes, well the Wasteland is a large place you know. I've been busy out there," Harley had a tone of distant reminiscence. Carol took the caps from her and pointed to an empty space with a bed, "It's not great, but it's better than most things out here. It's yours for the night smoothskin."

Harley settled on the bed and looked at her Pip-Boy before turning on the radio to GNR and setting the volume to low. The Ink Spots had finished their famous song and Three Dog came on then, _"Time again, my children, for chills and thrills, fears and scares. Do you know what that creepy Vault Boogeyman has been up to? Listen to this."_ Harley was intent as he recounted her tales with a hint of disgust, and a voice piped up from the corner of the living space, "Creepy stuff indeed, hmm?"

She warily looked over at a finely dressed ghoul, leaning lazily against the wall. "I suppose…"

"Mister Crowley," he looked her over and she shifted uncomfortably.

"Now, I can tell, you're an opportunist," he walked up to her, and she noticed that he was more decayed than the other ghouls, not to mention he had green hair. He had an evil aura about him and Harley shifted her spot on the bed to get a quick grip the stock of her assault rifle, should she need it.

He stopped a way off from her, "Perhaps you'd help me, Miss…?"

"Harley, that's all." He nodded at her threatening posture, arms poised to strike to grab the rifle.

"Yes, Miss Harley. You see, what I need requires some dirty work. Coincidently, do you have a problem with using that rifle over there?"

A sly smile graced her tanned skin; she was always willing to make a few caps by busting some, "No, no I don't Mister Crowley. Of course, the rifle comes with a price," her voice became hushed, "Cut straight to the point _shuffler_ , who's the victim and what's the pay?"

His face faltered aggressively at her snide insult before he recomposed himself, "Well _smoothskin_ , since you asked, there's a few people. All ghoul bigot assholes; I'll give you a list."

He pulled a tattered piece of paper from his lapel, "There's one specific things though, all of them need to be shot in the head, just like the old horror movie zombies. I'll pay 100 caps for each one shot in the head, 25 for anywhere else." Her eyebrows furled at the steep decline, but she nodded regardless.

Hell, she'd already sold a good chunk of people to get money, killing wasn't above her; 100 for a good head shot was pay enough. He held out the list to her, and she took it before looking over the names.

"Dukov is dead already." She grunted.

Crowley began fishing for his caps, eyes radiant with contentment, "By a shot to the head?"

Harley shook her head abruptly, "How the hell am I supposed to remember? I don't think so though." He tossed 25 caps her way and she began looking over the list. She was getting more irate from fatigue the more the conversation went on, and she mentally kicked herself for not lying as she counted the meager amount of caps.

"Come back when they're dead," with that, Crowley turned around and returned to the shadows, leaving the young woman were she was.

 _Six AM_

Harley woke up after a fitful sleep and groggily rubbed her hazel eyes before looking around in surprise. She remembered where she was and quieted a bit, before pulling out a chunk of raw mirelurk meat. Eating it thoughtfully she remembered Crowley's offering from the night before.

One of the hits was in Rivet City, and she knew for a fact one of Grouse's VIP slaves were there. A grimace crossed her face as she wondered how to kill him and slip out of the boat with a slave in tow.

She cleared her head and thought about the task at hand for now. Her stomach ached at her radiation poisoning, but she ignored it and silently got up to don her fresher recon armor.

In her bag she had a good store of ultrajet from Murphy's lab to sell to Azhrukhal. Part of her monthly trips included going deep into D. C's ruins., after roaming the Wastelands for supplies. Of course, anything she 'scavenged' from other Wastelander, Raiders, and any other creature could be sold anywhere.

But not utrajet. Sugar Bombs were a bitch to hunt down, let alone to not eat her own supplies when she was starving.

Murphy would convert the cereal for her, and then gave her some of the end product. As much as she enjoyed jet, ultrajet left her with too wicked of a hangover and it was worth enough caps to keep her happily situated for the field. She chose the latter of the two options.

The only issue was that every person she attempted to sell the super drug to shooed her out of the store immediately. Except Azhrukhal.

He bought it readily and she actually enjoyed conversing with the greasy ghoul about… uncouth topics. Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she moved out of Carol's Place and past the others who were asleep.

Out in Underworld's Concourse, she past the lone Mister Gutsy model and walked to back door of The Ninth Circle. She entered through the room with a few tables and beds, strung out jet junkies sleeping restlessly. Azhrukhal was up though, polishing a few pitchers and she watched him from the side room.

She coughed lightly and he snapped his head up at her in shock. "Char-"

"Relax, Azhrukhal. It's been awhile, I do hope you haven't forgotten about me?" Harley said calmly as she strolled into the main room.

Charon had rushed to stand at the entryway, hulking presence overshadowing the girl. "Ah, Harley… Don't you look absolutely... miserable. Pull up a stool and lay down a few caps, and tell Uncle Ahzrukhal all about it."

Harley sidestepped the bouncer and sat down, hands and fingers splayed gently on the sticky countertop. "What brings you in here so early, hmm?"

The girl sneered, "You damn well know, the shipment has come in."

A thin smile crossed his decayed face, "Murphy doesn't disappoint, does he? How much did he give you?"

Harley's face faltered and her voice quieted, "Enough… about 25 inhalers. I want 50 caps for each."

"Outrageous!" Azhrukhal snarled loudly. Charon dared to look up from the corner and a few of the junkies stirred slightly in their sleep. He was fuming from behind the counter and Harley briefly wondered if he would call his thug. "That's inflated Harley, and you know it," his voice went level again.

"Yeah yeah, I know. But who's been running all over the fuckin' Wasteland to find the secret ingredient? Who else is going to get this ultrajet to the poor ghouls who need a fix?"

Azhrukhal gritted his teeth in annoyance and, in a stalemate, he finally relented, "True, true smoothskin," he paused and a thought crossed his mind, "How about a trade instead?"

Her hazel eyes narrowed, "What do you have in mind?"

 _This is a partial re-vamp of my older story, "Running With Guns Drawn"; except for the fact this will eventually time-jump to the era of Fallout 4 ("Running With Guns Drawn" may stem from this refreshed chapter and be partially reworked and continued). I figured it would be a good place to start with the Lone Wanderer, and then the Sole Survivor, meeting up since Fallout 4 takes place 10 years after Fallout 3... so the two are about the same age._

 _R &R_


	2. Through the Metros

_7am-The Ninth Circle_

An hour of haggling was wearing Harley down, especially after the poor night's sleep. Azhrukhal had offered his thug's contract in exchange for the ultrajet, but Harley knew that even the best of 'contracts' cost 800 caps.

"No good," she shook her head and her dark brown hair fell in her face, "I want 450 caps _and_ his contract Azhrukhal. If you want that spiffy drug to keep coming, those are the requirements."

He hesitated before throwing his hands on the counter in reluctance, "Fine, Harley. You drive a hard bargain!" An angry smile came from the ghoul and he turned to his safe to get the caps and a scrap of aged paper.

"Wonderful," she grunted when he returned. She fished the inhalers out and passed them off in exchange for a bag of caps, then dipped her head, "Nice doing business with you Azhrukhal, I'll be back with another shipment in a few months."

He grumbled at her and she got up from the stool, strolling over to Charon icily. The scrap of paper in her hand was held out for him to see. "Let's go bouncer, you follow my orders now."

He nodded in silence before looking over her shoulder at the ghoul strumming his fingers angrily on the countertop, "Yes, but if you'd excuse me for just a minute I need to take care of something…" his voice trailed off before he moved around the teen to see his former master.

Harley watched them converse stiffly behind the counter until she saw the flash of a combat shotgun and a fine mist of blood land over the floor. Azhrukhal crumbled to the floor, head split open with blood pooling around it.

She stood cloaked in shock which quickly converted into a boiling anger. Her face was cherry red and her eyes wide, " _What the fuck did you just do?"_ she hissed quietly.

"Forgive me, Azhrukhal was an evil and vile bastard. He needed to die." he replied innocently.

She exploded then, " _BIG FUCKING DEAL! THAT WAS MY GODDAMN JOB!"_ She ran her hands through her hair despairingly, "My best buyer… god, who am I going to find now?" she moaned pained.

She stomped past Charon to go behind the counter. The ghouls sleeping in the next room had woken up from the reverb of the shotgun and were looking over at her as she rummaged through his stuff. She was dead silent now, and her new contract stood a way off watching her soundlessly.

"Wh, what…happened?" One of the residents asked. Harley ignored his question and hacked into the computer, unlocking Azhrukhal's safe.

Cleaning out the refrigerator and the wall safe she stood stiffly. The residents were in shock and she slipped out through the main door of The Ninth Circle quickly. Charon followed her and she hastily made her way downstairs and past Winthrop who looked at her funnily, "Hey smoothskin, you okay?" he called after her.

"Perfectly dandy Winthrop." she gritted through her teeth as she took long strides to the rotunda. The bulky bouncer followed her further back and she shoved the doors open to the Mall.

Once out in the morning sunshine, her anger began fading some. She didn't move for a while and stared over the deep trenches, bag over her shoulder filled with ultrajet once again. Harley composed her thoughts, deciding to travel over to Megaton again.

She began her walk towards the Metro, fumbling through the bag in the meanwhile. Pulling out a folded mask and shaking it, she held it carefully. The patchwork mask felt like thin leather, and as she came upon the entrance gate she twirled to Charon, "Now, you follow my orders. When I said that back at the bar, I meant it. I lost a very important cog for my transactions because of you. I don't care if he was evil; you'll find that I'm _much worse_." She put the mask on, and she could see a slight grimace from him; disgust. On top of the ghoul mask she tied her grey bandana tightly, eyes twinkling with malice, "Let's go."

Once in the cool darkness of the metro, she flipped on the Pip-Boy's light. Dodging sharp twisted metal, she ran through the tunnel past Roamers who stared at her curiously before calling out in a gargled yell and slinking away towards the darkest corners. A gruff mumble came from behind her and she twirled sharply to Charon, face barely illuminated as she kept her firearm by her side. "What was that?" she asked irritated, voice muffled by the mask.

"Nothing, I was just wondering why they aren't attacking you. Besides from the mask, you share nothing in common with them."

She huffed lazily, "Probably because my clothes still smell of blood. On the way into D.C. I met a scavenger, had him repair my stuff, then I killed him and took my caps back," she began walking again, "Do not grumble in my presence Charon, speak. I'm going to make the best of this shit situation, so talk and question. Please inquire." She drawled out the last word sarcastically.

They began walking again and Charon chose to take her up on her offer, "Alright smoothskin, " he began, "If you're such a tough bitch, why don't you take that mask off and fight?"

She huffed again, "Why would I waste my bullets? And, because of your little episode in The Ninth Circle, I wasn't able to see Doc Barrows to get more Stimpacks. I ought to take the mask off and have you get into it with them for that; but I can't have you on death's door either."

The two traveled on in silence, Harley remembering the way thoroughly. Occasionally she would check the time and the task she needed to finish. There was that book Moira wanted her to finish, but she found the woman's presence absolutely irritating. Though her original plans were to stop in Megaton before heading out to Rivet City, she decided to head on over to the Minefield.

Happy enough with the change in her decision, and her Mesmertron in peak condition, it was time to find other means of getting caps. Well, capturing slaves had never let her down… although when they have a sniper rifle and were perched high enough to see most people coming towards them it was a different story.

Harley briefly thought about the last trip there when she left with a hole in her shoulder and her armor almost blasted to shreds. She would disarm the mines, sell them…"Watch it!" Charon yelled before a bit of metal pinged and the jaws of a bear trap viciously snapped together.

Harley yelped in surprise as it chomped down on her heavy boot. "Shit," she could feel the teeth digging into the fabric before gingerly prying it away and pulling her foot out. Throwing the bear trap into the dark tunnel she cursed again and flexed her freed foot. "Thanks…"she grumbled somewhat embarrassed before looking around.

"We're almost there." She whispered to him after several excursions through numerous metros. They were close to the Farragut station near the Potomac, the heavily irradiated river that marked their welcome into Wasteland. Up ahead of them though were several radroaches crawling over each other in a cesspit.

She shivered in disgust, bile rising in her throat, "Charon, if those nasty things attack…blow them to bits. Or stomp on them, we still have a way to go before we get back to Megaton," her voice was cracking in apprehension now. He grunted in reply and the two advanced to the exit.

The bugs flared there wings in warning at the two and Harley quickly bolted past them, a phobia she had developed early in life. Charon kicked the roaches away and calmly followed his frenzied employer out into the open air.

It was midday by the time they finally finished the subway travels, and Harley gulped down outdoor air appreciatively. She thoroughly hated the metros, but a trip to D.C. was sometimes necessary. _At least it won't be too bad now._ She thought before looking at Charon, "You hungry?" she asked somewhat bored. He shook his head and she continued on, following the river north.

Checking her map, she marked the location and again they traveled in silence. The ghoul took the opportunity to once again take her up on her offer, "Hey smoothskin, you never told me your name."

She stopped and looked at the green tinted sky forlornly, "…Harley."

She sighed and began a jog towards the explosive filled town. They were coming to the end of the buildings that once had marked civilization. "You know; you don't seem as bad as you said you were. Scared of radroaches are we?" he added snidely.

She twisted to him, hazel orbs on fire, "Fuck you."

They were camped a way off of the Scrapyard, the girl messaging her sore legs and feet. A tiny fire had been built and she curled up next to an adjacent rock, exhaustion tearing at her. She searched through her bag again, pulled some meat out and switched on the radio station to GNR.

 _Easy Living_ was playing softly and she adjusted the volume before tossing a wrapped chunk of ant meat at her contract. She didn't say anything as he looked at her with scrutiny. "When tomorrow comes I need you follow my lead. The Minefield somewhere over there is covered with Frag Mines." she gestured while ripping off a chunk of raw meat.

She had acquired a taste and an aversion to the ill effects, "There's a crazy fucking sniper called Arkansas there too, if you want you can cripple the coot, but do not kill him. I need to get close enough for the final shot."

"As you command," he paused while unwrapping the ant meat and finding a nearby stick to roast it over the little fire. The rhythmic music ended and Three Dog came on, and she slumped to listen to him more comfortably.

Charon ate in silence before he continued, "You know, this Vault kid seems like a psycho path. Kind of like how you describe yourself," his tone was bemused slightly and he waited for her angry response; he had seen worse people than her, and he knew the air of toughness and history was light compared to the other people he'd been 'employed' for.

No response came from the girl, but she glanced up with a tiny smirk on her tanned features. _In the morning_ , she thought tiredly, _he'll see that Vault psycho_.


	3. Two Unlucky Raiders

_It felt like her eyes were on fire. A thin veil of white came over them and she blinked to no avail. Within a few minutes it began to phase out ever so slightly and she could see the horizon bit by bit. A gasp almost escaped her lips and she continued shutting her eyes to remove the fuzz surrounding everything._

 _A stiff wind tugged at her hair and she finally remembered where she was before swiveling around to the aged wood door that closed her off from the Vault's tunnel. It was dead silent, no cries of commands or pleas from them for her to return._

 _Just the wind, the noon sunshine, and never ending span of brown, dead landscape. "Scenic over view my ass."_

Harley woke up with cramps and slowly stretched them out. The morning sun hadn't come up just yet so she figured it was about six. Charon watched her a way off as she wordlessly rummaged through her bag for a half-destroyed hairbrush and meticulously combed her mop of hair until it was free of knots. It took her about half an hour before she finally glanced at him, grunted and turned back to her pack to find some food. While she was eating, she still hadn't said a word, and Charon nibbled contentedly on some Cram.

Charon had stayed up to be the night-watch as Harley slept fitfully, her face making snarls and grimaces in her sleep. Despite how nasty she was, the girl was still young. It didn't excuse her actions, but it more so explained why she was using such taboo means of getting by.

By far, she was the most interesting contract holder. Making chem deals, not killing ferals, and yet somehow afraid of radroaches. He chuckled lightly as she turned to him.

"Alright..."she said calmly, "Charon we're heading north away from the river. We shouldn't be attacked by anything since mole rats and Yao Guai ignore me completely, but be prepared."

The red headed ghoul glanced up in slight surprise, "Really? How odd, every ghoul that came through to Underworld from the Wastes was terrified of them."

Harley shrugged before standing up and holstering the Mesmertron to her hip, "I don't know why, or course they used to attack me but they've stopped after I've explored a lot."

Charon chuckled darkly, "You know, you're in a lot better mood than yesterday."

Harley smirked before placing her assault rifle on her back and a combat knife in her boot, "Yeah, I am, so what? When death is all around you being depressing doesn't help. But believe me, that mood comes and goes. Come on, we should go."

They traveled north past arching destroyed super-highways and rocky crags. A few of the mutated black bears glanced at her and she walked on with Charon following her. It took the pair about three hours before they reached the Scrapyard. Harley peered at the towering metal heaps from under her bandana, pale face tanned from the sun exposure. "We're almost to the Minefield." she noted quietly before falling into a crouch and edging to the inside of the Scrapyard.

They sneaked around the heaps cautiously, a loud gurgling yell making Harley jump slightly. "It's not safe here." the raspy voice sounded from behind her. She looked at him incredulously before crawling to peer around stacked metal plates.

Two male raiders danced around a snarling beast with uncertainty as it lunged for their legs. "You're dead meat!" one yelled angrily.

A feral growl ripped from the animal's chest as it snapped at the dark skinned raider wearing sadist's armor. The raider's friend pulled a switchblade from his belt and the animal twisted around to leap at him. It grabbed his wrist and with a flash of the beast's fangs severed the artery and had blood pooling on the dusty floor.

"You son of a bitch!" the raider screeched as he dropped the blade and the growling animal released him before turning to the other one. His friend stared in a brief horror and turned to flee before the feral creature lunged for his neck and hung there determinedly. The raider's eyes bulged slightly as the beast closed his access to air, and crumpled underneath the beast dead. The injured man looked up and began hyperventilating before the creature launched for the other throat and shoved him into the dirt.

It clawed at his chest and the two spectators watched with intent as the raider grappled weakly and then went still as teeth punctured his windpipe. It glanced up with blood covering its mouth and growled once more as in triumph.

Harley watched with mixed emotions; fear initially, then delight, and then relief. "What the fuck is that thing?" she finally muttered.

Charon squinted his milky eyes, "I think... I think it's a... dog," The ghoul watched disbelievingly as well.

"What a wonderful creature!" Harley almost shouted it. Although she said it too loudly and the dog twirled around with its nose twisted into a snarl. Much to Charon's dismay and the contract's rules going against it, Harley stood up and approached the bristling hound. He reached to grab for her arm but she ripped it away and looked at him sourly before calmly saying, "It's alright, I know what I'm doing." She didn't look at him when she said it but stared loosely at the hound's eyes.

His left eye was blue and the right one was brown. The long black strands of fur on his back were puffed out and Harley could still see the blood decorating his fangs. Harley figured him to be an Australian cattle dog* from what she remembered reading from the old books back in Vault 101. She always liked the animals from the photos, but every living example of them had attempted to kill her, except for tamed ones that residents sometimes owned.

"Easy now... we're not going to hurt you. By the look of it you should be promising us that, huh?" Her tone was nice and light, and the dog stopped growling only to glare at them with barred teeth.

Harley pulled her pack around and the dog resumed growling before she pulled out some iguana bits and carefully tossed them to the dog. He watched the pair intently before hungrily snatching them up and eating them.

"What are you doing?" Charon whispered angrily. She raised her hand to him in silence and waited. The dog finished eating and looked up with his eyes twinkling now; his ears were alert and he had stopped snarling completely to pant lightly.

"See? You know, I think you're the first dog I've met that didn't try to eat me." He barked happily at her now and he turned to sniff at Charon. He hesitantly held his hand out and the dog licked it before turning to Harley and barking again.

"You know, you weren't dead meat at all," He wagged his tail and looked at Harley with acceptance. "Dogmeat sounds like a fitting name for you." she smiled before patting the cattle dog's head. "Alright!" Harley said happily, "Let's go."


	4. Jet

_March 16_

A few months had passed as the trio traversed the Wasteland, all of them beginning to become friends, though all initially wary of the other. All three of them knew that this caution was deep-seated and recognized it was for a good reason.

Harley had established herself in the Wasteland for little over a year now, and after dealing with seedy people on her own accord, it had tainted her interpretation of the world quickly. She blamed Moriarty for that, though she felt she had done a good deed by shooting the bastard in the head for withholding information about her father for caps.

Hacking didn't cost anything.

But even after that incidence, she was always cautious around people too friendly or those who didn't cut to a deal immediately. It had kept her alive.

Charon was passed around from one asshole to the next; and Harley never dared to question him about his past, no matter how intrigued by it she was. Though she assumed he was pre-war by some of the ways he grimaced at her 'offensive' tactics, and that he used to be military by the way he held himself in battle.

This silence was mutual, but instead he made idle conversation as they traveled since Harley told him to speak up and speak his mind. Regardless of the contract or not. He seemed apprehensive at first, but slowly relented and talked more, though overall he was silent.

She had softened up to the hulking ghoul as well, though she was occasionally bitter and mean to him. He seemed to watch her with passive aggressive eyes on occasion, though never acting on anything physically rhetorical that may have been running through his mind.

Even Dogmeat, who started off snarling at Harley and Charon when they approached him too quickly, or from behind, had settled himself uneasily amongst the strange little group.

She had read _White Fang_ multiple times and she knew not to try and speed up the dog's trust.

The Capital Cannibal, the Vault Boogeyman, the Capital Crimelord… though they were still valid nicknames, Harley had relaxed some since being with others.

Isolation exacerbated an already existing mood disorder, and her volatility became much worse when she was left to her mind's thoughts. With company, even her bloodlust had simmered down; though disorder or not, she was an inherently violent person. *

All of the past few months ran through her head and she settled down on a flat rock and pulled out her sack of caps to count. The three had jerry-rigged something akin to a picnic under the shade of an overpass, sporadically looking over the water for mirelurks and listening for the occasional traveler.

GNR played Billie Holiday softy as Charon ate radroach meat, to Harley's disgust, and watched her count the amount of caps. Dogmeat was laying down and watching the glistening waters attentively, seemingly bored.

"Shit," she cursed, throwing her head back. Her hand gripping the bag, she easily swung it about to show Charon how empty it was. The ghoul grimaced at her, but said nothing.

Grouse's VIP slaves had all been captured, and Paradise Fall's cages were filled with eyes brimming with odium for her. Though Three Dog still crooned on about her evil actions, she captured slaves on a freelance basis now, and she had stopped working within the walls of the Slaver's headquarters when Eulogy had asked her to capture a child.

Initially, she had gone to Little Lamplight without telling Charon about the plan and made him wait a long way off. She brought Dogmeat since most children loved the pooch and she figured it would win the kid over more easily.

Though as soon as she met the gullible little girl who so happily followed her outside, Harley didn't have the heart to pass her onto the nameless Slaver, and the hillside rung out with a single gunshot and the sound of a shrill child's scream as she retreated back into the caverns.

That was a month ago, and she was down to 156 caps.

She finished Mr. Crowley's list partially, though didn't have the heart to shoot any of the listed names that were residents of Underworld since they had shown her some kindness when she had dragged herself there on Death's doorstep the first visit.

She stopped her counting and looked up to her scruffy group, hazel eyes glittering with an idea.

"Hey Charon, feel like going grocery shopping?" Harley looked at him, her face a mask of quiet cunningness. He blinked at her, a bit confused before remembering about the damn Sugar Bombs.

"You're back throwing in with Murphy?" he asked with a moan and she nodded, "Who are you going to sell to? You've gutted every caravan we've come across, and no town is going to buy ultrajet," his voice was gruff and laced with antipathy at her deeds.

"Yeah, well, no town _here_ ," she said stiffly as a spring breeze kicked up some dust. Charon squinted at her, stopping his meal to listen with reserved curiosity.

She had the old ghoul's attention and she smiled internally, her mind working quickly.

"Besides that, all I gotta do is watch Murphy while he's making it. I'm not a chemist, but I'm sure I can figure out how to make some,"

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" he replied in his gruff voice and Harley's eyes grew wide, thinking about the possibilities. They stared at each other and she shifted uneasily.

"Come on, surely Underworld isn't the only city filled with ghouls, and I'm sure there's jet junkies out there who can handle the stuff," she held the bag up for him to see and shook it again, "This is getting pretty light, and ammo to keep living out in the wilderness isn't cheap. I can only repair my weapons up until a certain point and then after that?"

He rolled his eyes at her, but she snapped at him suddenly, "Look, I know I'm not one-hundred percent reliable! For god's sake, I've pretty much given up on finding my father and all we're doing out here is waiting to be picked off by Raiders. So, tell me _bouncer_ , do you have a secret stash of caps so we can go to the doctor's or so we can buy ammunition or even so we can rent a bed for the night?"

Harley only regretted mentioning her father, she had never brought him up prior and she hoped that Charon wouldn't question it. She was immediately remorseful of her tone when anger flashed across his face faster than lightning.

Charon stared at her icily, rage rising from her using the old nickname, "So what do you propose? And do you really think you can learn how to make ultrajet from just watching him?" he said stiffly.

"I can try to," she said defensively, "We make one final run, and then get the hell out of here." Harley stopped to take a deep breath, emotions flooding her suddenly, "Besides, there's nothing here anymore," she said the last part in a whisper.

Charon tilted his head at her sudden emotion change, and Dogmeat was looking at the two curiously, walking over to comfort Harley who started to pat his head absent mindedly.

Ever since the deal in The Ninth Circle had gone sour, Harley hadn't been back to see Murphy and she still carried around the ultrajet, occasionally selling it to random ghouls she met while traveling. Majority of the chem was still on her though.

Their grocery shopping runs had yielded more success than she originally thought, and as they traveled the dusty Wasteland, she could hear the cereal rattling around in her duffle bag.

The three of them were close to the Northwest Seneca metro, and tucking away the bag of caps she pulled out the separate bag of cereal. _How_ the ghoul made drugs out of cereal was really beyond on her, Charon was right about that… she just hoped that visual learning would come through for her.

Down in the metro, she took a deep inhale, drew a smile on her face, and knocked on the iron door to the little chem lab.

Murphy's beady eyes stared at her through the hole, face scrunched up in caution.

"Well hello Murphy," Harley began, "Long time, no see, eh?"

"Yeah, I was starting to wonder if you went and got your head blown off. You got some Sugar Bombs for me?"

"Of course, of course," she showed him the bag filled with the ratty boxes. "But there's one thing I gotta ask of you."

Murphy and his guard were skeptical of letting the little group stay to watch him work.

"Come on Murphy," Harley began, a charismatic smile on her face, "I've been all around to get this special cereal, so all I'm asking is to just watch you cook your specialty."

Charon rolled his eyes at her, and Murphy sighed, "Alright smoothskin, let me guess…" he eyed her over, "You want to know the recipe to make it yourself, don't you?"

She threw her hands up to her chest, "You caught me," her eyes narrowed at him, "Look Murphy, my only reliable buyer is dead and well, I can't sell to anyone else in the Wasteland."

Harley could feel Charon's eyes burning into her back, but ignored him.

"And?"

"Well," she drawled out, "I'm heading out of the Wastelands, and I need a tradecraft. A girl can't always rely on being a merc and honest living… it's not for me," a dark chuckle escaped her.

"Alright then," he grabbed the cereal and opened a back room in his little lab, "Come on, even if you don't have connects, _I do_ , so let's get start."


End file.
